


The Motel

by waitingforjudas



Series: The Wedding Bride [1]
Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Accidental Marriage, Alternate Universe - No Zombie Apocalypse, Alternate Universe - No Zombies, Anal Sex, Angst and Porn, Daryl Dixon Being Daryl Dixon, Daryl Dixon Being an Asshole, Daryl Dixon Needs a Hug, Daryl Dixon in Love, Daryl Dixon is Bad at Feelings, Homophobic Language, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Internalized Homophobia, Las Vegas Wedding, M/M, Mutual Pining, No Apocalypse, POV Daryl Dixon, POV Third Person, Protective Rick Grimes, Requited Unrequited Love, Showers, but daryl dixon still has his crossbow, but there is other sex, i would never make you read first person Daryl Dixon nobody could survive it, minor merle dixon/shane walsh, no shower sex i'm sorry, there's not much of a plot but there's angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-02
Updated: 2020-12-07
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:27:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27830749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waitingforjudas/pseuds/waitingforjudas
Summary: The motel was rundown and kind of gross, but it was as good a place as any to figure out how to deal with this.“Still can’t believe we’re married,” Rick muttered.Daryl tried not to flinch at that and just grunted, jerking his head in a sort-of nod.
Relationships: Daryl Dixon/Rick Grimes
Series: The Wedding Bride [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2036956
Comments: 9
Kudos: 55





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This has been a weird year. I finished editing this in early May, and now it's December. I put Call Us Dropout Heroes on hiatus also in May, and now it's December. 
> 
> what is time??? 
> 
> Chapter two is, obviously, finished. I'll be posting that pretty soon, but I like leaving you on a blue balls cliffhanger, so... :) :) :)

The motel was rundown and kind of gross, but it was as good a place as any to figure out how to deal with this. 

“Still can’t believe we’re married,” Rick muttered. 

Daryl tried not to flinch at that and just grunted, jerking his head in a sort-of nod. 

“Daryl— Hey, man, you doin’ all right? You seem a little—”

“‘M fine.” Daryl swallowed and lifted his thumb to his mouth before forcing himself to stop. His nails were already ragged and too far bitten down without him making it worse still. 

Rick kept glancing at him as he parked the car. “You sure?” 

“I said I’m fine, Rick.” Daryl glanced back at him and, the moment Rick had stopped the car—before he’d even put it in park—he jumped out of the car, glad he hadn’t worn his seatbelt. 

“I wish you wouldn’t do that,” Rick muttered under his breath. 

Daryl rolled his eyes. Rick was too pure for this world, that was for sure. 

Too damn pure to be ruined by a faggot like Daryl Dixon. 

He fought the urge to lift his thumb back to his mouth and instead turned and started pulling their suitcases out. They’d already missed their flight—which was why they were driving and staying at a cheap motel—and woken up married. The last thing that Daryl needed was to accidentally pull off his fingernail. 

A hand landed, soft and warm, on his shoulder, but too close to the scars littering his back and Daryl jerked. “Get off me!” 

“Hey!” Rick held up his hands and took a step back. “I was just going to offer to help you unload the car, that’s all.” 

Daryl eyed him—he stayed passive and calm, and he kept his hands out to the sides, although he lowered them from above his head. 

“Listen, Daryl,” Rick said, and Daryl _hated_ that tone of voice. Not because it was something bad, but because it was so soft and sweet and everything that Daryl couldn’t ever have. “I know this is— Well, it’s a weird situation, but—”

“Don’t worry about it,” Daryl muttered. 

“But,” Rick continued, and Daryl rolled his eyes before reaching back into the car and grabbing one of Rick’s nice suitcases, “you’re going to have to get used to being around me for a while.” 

Daryl grunted. 

It was true. They’d missed their original flight, which happened to be the last flight before everything got snowed in when the blizzard hit—and those damn airport pussies were too chickenshit to ever just nut up and fly when there was even a chance of snow, much less a blizzard. 

And Daryl had already spent more than enough money just getting out here for Shane and Merle’s bachelor party, which… ugh. 

Thank fuck Rick was here. 

But what _wasn’t_ so great was that they were _married_. 

Daryl pulled out his own duffel bag and closed the car door, leaning against it to unzip and double-check the contents of his bag. 

“I didn’t forget your crossbow,” Rick said, more than a little annoyed. 

“You’ve never liked—”

“No, I’ve never liked you draggin’ that thing around with you everywhere you go, but I wouldn’t just leave it at a hotel. ‘Specially not a hotel like that.” 

Daryl looked up to see Rick standing with his arms crossed and his brow knit—his feet spread apart to the point that he looked almost confrontational just standing there. 

Daryl huffed and pulled a few of the rumpled, wadded clothes in his bag to the side. His crossbow was there. “And the bolts?” 

Rick threw up his hands. “They’re in there, Daryl. I’m gonna go get a room, all right? You stay here, watch our bags.” He started off towards the main office. 

“Nobody’ll take anythin’.”

Rick turned, walking backwards. “Yeah, that’s why you bring the crossbow, right? Not just good in a zombie apocalypse.” 

Daryl rolled his eyes and zipped his duffel bag up. He swung it over his shoulder and adjusted the strap that was wearing through the padding too fast for his liking until it was comfortable enough that he didn’t want to tear his skin off. 

He kept a hand on top of the bag and the other on the car’s frame, leaning enough that he couldn’t just absentmindedly start gnawing on his nails again. 

What had Shane said to get? Bitter Apple spray, wasn’t it? 

The shit you put on table legs when you got puppies? 

He didn’t know why Merle was so in love with Shane, honest to crap. It made less than no sense. Actually, the only thing that made sense about it was that they were both assholes. But Shane had been to anger management, and Merle had been to prison, so maybe they just had different ways of—

“Room 114,” Rick called out, jogging over. 

“Nothing on the second floor?” 

Rick shot him an irritated look as he picked up his bags. “No. Not unless I wanted to pay an extra forty bucks for the night.” 

And— Well, Daryl couldn’t really argue with that, could he? 

He grunted and rolled his eyes as Rick fought to pick up his _third_ bag. “Give me that.” 

“I’ve got it,” Rick said. 

“Rick.” 

Rick looked at him and finally sighed, acquiescing. “Take the damn thing, then.” Rick made a face. “That came out wrong.” 

Daryl flicked a brow up, trying to bite back his smile. “No kiddin’.” 

“I think it’s just a few doors down from here,” Rick said, nodding to the right, deeper into the L-shaped motel. 

“I got first shower,” Daryl said. 

“Go for it.” 

Daryl glanced at him, frowning. “Are you—” 

Rick slipped past him, somehow not even bumping into him despite how much luggage he was carrying. 

Daryl stared after him as he fitted the motel key into the room’s lock and kicked open the door, the door getting stuck on either stiff carpet or rusty hinges. 

“You comin’ or what.”

Daryl followed after him. 

Rick closed the door behind him and tossed the key down on the little table in the room’s brief entry hall. “You got first—” 

“No, you first,” Daryl said, turning to lock the door and wincing at the crunch of his boots on the almost menacingly stiff carpet. 

Rick stopped dragging his luggage across the carpet and glanced back at him. “You sure?” 

Daryl nodded, shrugging. “Go for it, man.” 

Rick hesitated, but then he nodded. “Thanks.” And with that, he turned and headed into the bathroom. 

Inside the carpet-covered room itself were two beds—queen size, surprisingly—long, thin curtains covered windows with ragged blinds, one nightstand with a lamp between the two beds, and a little round table with two ugly chairs. 

Fancy. 

Daryl tossed his duffel bag onto the bed closest to the door and then thought better of it, moving the bag onto the floor. In places like this, bed bugs were a real possibility, even if they weren’t a real likelihood. 

But a cursory inspection proved that his bed was clean, and so was Rick’s. The carpet was far from it, but then he just wouldn’t roll around on it for too long. 

The hotel from last night had been nice—much nicer. Plush carpeting, king-sized mattresses, and flat-screen TVs, and the only trade-off had been that everybody’d been two to a suite. But the suites were huge, and they had separate rooms anyway—just one keycard for the door. 

The hotel from last night had also costed way more than this place. Then again, most places were more expensive than this motel. 

Or what he assumed the motel costed. It couldn’t be that much, though. 

Daryl stripped the duvet off the bed and shook the pillows out from their cases to check for anything inside of the fabric—he’d been burned before. Not for a while, but if he didn’t check and—

“It’s all yours,” Rick said, and Daryl turned and his knuckles turned white around the pillow as he swallowed heavily. 

He nodded weakly as Rick, bare-chested, still dripping with water from his shower, curls sopping wet and slicked back with water framing his face. 

“Keepin’ the beard?” 

Rick rolled his eyes, but he smiled. “Thinkin’ about it, yeah.” 

Daryl swallowed, dry throat clicking. He nodded again. “Still hot water?” 

Rick shrugged and he bent over to dig through his suitcase, and Daryl’s heart thudded painfully in his chest, his throat closing up. “Should be.” 

Daryl grabbed his entire duffel bag and brought the whole mess of it with him into the bathroom. If he’d stayed out there a minute longer— 

Well, it would’ve been more than a little clear that Rick’s new husband wasn’t so opposed to being husband and husband. 

And that— 

Rick was obviously at least tolerant of gays, since his best friend was getting married to a man and he’d gone to the bachelor party, but— 

It was one thing to tolerate gays and it was another to be married to one. 

Daryl bit his thumbnail harder and winced, jerking it from his mouth. Damn it—he thought he’d had a handle on this. 

Maybe he _should_ get some of that puppy spray. 

###

Daryl toweled off and got dressed fully in the bathroom, triple-checking in the mirror that his shirt wasn’t too see-through before he opened the door, releasing a rush of steam, and stepped through. 

Rick was lying in the bed closest to the door, a book propped on his stomach and his head crooked against the headboard in a way that looked distinctly awful. 

Daryl winced on his behalf before his brain caught up with him. “Why’re you in my bed?” 

Rick looked up at him. “You didn’t claim a bed, Daryl.” 

“That’s my bed.” 

Rick stared. “I’m already in it.” 

Daryl gritted his teeth. “You’re in my bed, Rick.” 

“The other bed’s perfectly fine.” 

“Then you take it.” 

Rick sat up, tossing his book to the side without even marking his place—which was a really bad sign. “Daryl,” he said, voice warning, “this is my bed.” 

Daryl stared him down for a moment before walking over to the entry hall, dropping his duffel bag, and returning to the other bed. 

“What are you doing, Daryl?” He sounded tired, but that didn’t discourage Daryl for a moment. 

He picked up a couple pillows and the duvet and carried them over to the entry hall. 

“Jesus, Daryl, would you—” 

“Night, Rick.” 

Daryl hit the wall switch for the lamp—and why the hell did a _motel_ have a light switch for the _lamp_ —and curled up in the hall, adjusting the pillow underneath his head. 

It was quiet. 

“Daryl,” Rick said. 

“‘M asleep.” 

He was very much awake. 

“For— _Daryl_.” The sheets rustled, and then two soft footsteps on the stiff, crunchy carpet. 

“Y’need to learn to tiptoe, Rick. Could wake somebody up one of these days.” 

“Good that you aren’t really asleep th—” 

Daryl grunted as Rick fell onto him, tripping over something and landing on him hard. “The fuck, man?” 

Rick squawked. “I tripped, Daryl!” 

Daryl curled up a lip, wrinkling his nose. Trying to pretend that he was completely disgusted instead of completely elated. “Go back to bed, Rick.” 

Rick huffed, and he shifted like he was going to get up before just settling down next to Daryl. 

A long moment. 

“What’re you doin’, Rick?” 

“Nothing.” 

“Rick, I—” 

“The bed’s free,” Rick said. 

He was calling Daryl’s bluff, wasn’t he? 

Daryl gritted his teeth. “You made a good argument,” he tried. 

Rick reached out and slapped blindly at the wall. 

“It’s about four feet higher,” Daryl said. 

He could almost _hear_ the eye roll. 

Let it never be said that Rick Grimes wasn’t a complete and utter drama king. 

“Thank you for that, Daryl.” 

Daryl rolled his eyes right back. “Go to bed, Rick.” 

“I think you should take your own advice.” 

Daryl huffed. “Rick—” 

“I think we have two solutions to this,” Rick said, and Daryl sighed. “Solution one—we both sleep here, on the floor, on this carpet.” 

Daryl wrinkled his nose as he shivered involuntarily. Admittedly, he’d kind of forgotten that he was lying on the carpet, but—

“Solution two,” Rick continued, “we both sleep in the bed by the door.” 

Daryl stopped breathing. “What?” he whispered. 

“It’s cold, there’s a blizzard coming, neither of us’ll sleep behind the other person… take your pick. They’re all legitimate.” 

They were all— 

Excuses. 

Daryl blinked in the darkness. “Rick?” he said, after a long few minutes. 

Rick hummed. 

“Go to bed.” 

Rick groaned, right in his ear, and despite it all, Daryl’s cock stiffened. 

His eyes widened. 

“Daryl,” Rick whined, petulant and—and not needy, _not_ needy at all, Jesus fucking—

“I’ll—”

“Are you—” Rick broke off. “Daryl, are you—” 

Daryl jerked to his feet, abandoning Rick, the pillows, and the duvet. “I’m just gonna—” 

The lamp turned on and Daryl’s eyes widened. Everything in him screamed to not cover his crotch, to not draw more attention to it, but that seemed somehow infinitely worse. 

He clasped his hands in front of himself. Daryl cleared his throat as some unreadable look crossed over Rick’s face. “Excuse me,” Daryl said, glancing behind himself and starting to back up towards the bathroom. 

“Wait,” Rick said, taking a few fast strides forward and grabbing Daryl’s arm. “Daryl.” 

Daryl swallowed. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. He shook his head. “Rick, if you can just give me a moment, I’ll—” 

Rick’s grip tightened on him for a moment. “If you want to do that,” he said slowly—like he was talking to a wounded animal, “I won’t stop you. But… Daryl, I— If there’s any way that that’s because of me….” Rick swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing almost violently. 

Daryl waited for the inevitable rejection—the moment that he dropped the bomb that he knew that Daryl was a fag and that he couldn’t even be in the same motel room as him because—

“I’d like to have sex with you.” Oddly formal. Oddly—

Daryl choked on thin air, eyes going wider than they ever had before. “You— I— What? Rick, you’re—” 

“I want to fuck you,” Rick said, stepping closer, eyes infinitely more intense when they were just a few inches away from Daryl’s own. “Or, in terms of logistics,” he said, and Daryl’s stomach twisted, “I want you to fuck me.” 


	2. Chapter 2

Daryl kept waiting for Rick to start laughing at him, that Daryl had believed it for even a split second, but he didn’t. 

“Are you okay?” Rick said, brow starting to crease. “Daryl, you’re shaking.” 

He knew what he was supposed to do. Chuckle, shake it off, and get in bed. The one furthest from the door if Rick insisted on it. 

He knew that he was supposed to make it obvious that he didn’t actually want Rick in any way. And he knew that he was supposed to make it clear that he knew it was a joke. 

He knew that their marriage was a drunken fuckup because Rick had broken things off with Lori for once—for a fourth time—and for all. 

Daryl knew all of that. 

He did. 

His breath was coming shaky and rough, and he knew he was trembling like Mrs. Miller’s little Chihuahua dog, Chloe, and Rick was looking at him like he was almost scared, and Daryl— 

Daryl leaned forward, pressed one hand to Rick’s cheek and the other to his shoulder, and kissed him. 

If Rick was going to let him, then he’d take this one moment before Rick pun—

Rick _moaned_ , instead, and kissed him back, lips moving hard and rough and brutal on Daryl’s, and his hands moving hot and heavy onto Daryl’s hips, tugging him closer. 

Daryl almost froze up, but he shoved the thoughts of it all being some sick joke out of the window and kept kissing him. Kept kissing Rick. _Rick Grimes_. 

His best friend. 

Oh, god. Oh, god, he didn’t even know if his stomach was rolling because he was gonna puke or because he was gonna come, but—but it was terrifying. Like the first time that he’d ever jacked off, right before he came, he got _scared_. Terrified, really. Just—just completely freaked out that it was bad, it was wrong, just because— He’d never done it before. 

Rick kept kissing him, hands squeezing Daryl’s hips and then slowly winding around to tug at his belt buckle—not his shirt. 

Not his— 

Every rational thought ran right out of Daryl’s head and he moaned, pressing Rick back towards the bed, only breaking the kiss to push him down onto the mattress. 

Rick’s pupils were blown black and wide, like gaping black holes, but pale ice crystal blue ringed around them. Maybe a hole in a glacier. Maybe—

“Daryl,” Rick rasped, and Daryl _broke_. Something in him broke and he fumbled with his belt buckle, trying to work the damn thing free. “Daryl, let me—” 

“I got it,” Daryl snarled, trying not to blush. 

Rick’s hands pressed onto his own, stilling his hands. “Let me.” 

Daryl nodded slowly, cheeks still thoroughly flushed, but he let Rick slowly pull his belt open and then through the loops of his jeans. 

Rick smiled up at him, soft and gentle, and tossed the belt to the side. It hit the carpet with a clink that Daryl would’ve anticipated from a harder floor—even this carpet wasn’t that soft. 

Daryl, logically, wasn’t any further undressed than he’d been a moment earlier, but—still. It had been almost like a chain tethering a bike to a rack. It didn’t matter that the chain had been held together with some twine—it had still been held together. 

He swallowed hard and pulled his thumbs into his palms, curling his fingers over them. “I—” He swallowed again and tried to clear his throat. “I.” 

Rick—easily, of course—just took over, nodding. “I think you should keep your clothes on,” he said. “Just pull your cock out. Make it hotter.” 

“You got a clothing fetish, Grimes?” 

Rick grinned. “I think I’ve got a Daryl fetish, Dixon.” 

Daryl blushed harder and chewed at his thumbnail. “So, what, you gonna just—” 

Rick grabbed the back of his shirt and tugged it over his head and tossed it off to the side—where it went didn’t really matter, though, because Rick’s chest was hairy and broad and his waist was narrow and so were his hips and he—he looked like a man. 

Daryl couldn’t really pretend that he didn’t like men anymore. Couldn’t pretend that he didn’t like Rick anymore. 

It wasn’t as scary as he thought it would be, actually. 

Rick grinned at him, broad and easy, and tugged at Daryl’s belt loops—almost as if to get his attention, though, because he just tugged at them, didn’t pull. “I got some lube in my bag.” 

Daryl snorted. “Which one?” 

Rick swatted at his hip, light enough that he barely felt it through the denim. “The small one. Why’re you wearin’ jeans?” 

Daryl shrugged and walked over to Rick’s luggage, trying to guess which of the two small bags Rick meant. “Not really a place I’d want to wear pajama pants.” 

“It’s the blue one, not the black one.” 

“Why didn’t ya just say it was the blue bag, then?” 

Daryl picked it up nonetheless and dropped it on the bed next to Rick, who startled riffling through it, coming away with a practically industrial sized bottle of lube. 

“How the hell’d ya get that thing on the plane?” 

Rick shrugged, like he was mysterious—when, in all likelihood, the dumbass’d probably just packed the wrong bottle. “I have my ways.” 

Daryl rolled his eyes. 

“Hey, it’s coming in handy.” 

His shoulders tightened as Rick wiggled out of his soft-looking pajama pants. “Planning on getting lucky?” 

Rick stopped, bent over with the pants around his knees, and looked up at him. “Planning on fingering my ass,” he said. 

“Lot of lube for that.” 

Rick stepped out of his pants—wearing nothing but, of all things, black briefs. Daryl tried not to focus on Rick’s cock—even though it was a little hard _not_ to look at it when it was— “You’ve never seen me finger my ass before,” Rick said. 

Daryl eyed him. It sounded like a trick question. 

“It gets messy,” Rick said, kicking the pants to the side. “I’ll show you.” 

Rick picked the bottle of lube back up and peeled off the seal underneath the cap. “See? Haven’t slept with anybody else.” 

On this trip. 

Rick squirted out a handful and rubbed his fingers through it for a moment, sitting back down on the bed and kicking himself back towards the pillows, propping himself up on them. 

“Glad I checked ‘em,” Daryl muttered. 

“What, the pillows? Wait— Wait, did they— Was there something… _in_ —”

“I said I checked ‘em, Rick.” 

Rick deflated, rolling his eyes with a scoff. “This is a skeezy motel. Forgive me for worrying.” 

“‘Course,” Daryl said. 

“Sit down,” Rick said, nodding towards the bed. “You’re gonna like watching this.” 

Daryl sat on the opposite end of the bed and reached out to hold Rick’s ankle lightly. 

Rick grinned at him and, with his lubeless hand, tossed Daryl the whole bottle of lube. “Hold onto that for me.” 

Daryl nodded, mind going blank as Rick slicked up his nipples to the point that they looked like somebody had slobbered on them for an hour straight, just drooling saliva at the taste. 

With the rest of the lube on his hand, he ran a thick line down the center of his chest to the top of his happy trail. 

Daryl swallowed hard, trying not to stare. 

“Daryl,” Rick said softly, and licked his lips. 

Daryl’s cock jumped. 

“I want you to watch,” he murmured. 

Daryl nodded. “All— All right.” 

Rick reached up and flicked his nipples, one at a time, and every time his nails hit the buds, his cock twitched in his briefs, somehow thickening up further still. 

Daryl licked his lips, swallowing back saliva pooling too rapidly in his mouth to go anywhere, to be useful. Maybe Rick would let him— 

No. No, that was a little far, even for gays. A dick in an ass, a finger in an ass, that was one thing, but… it was too far. 

After a few moments, Rick’s cock seemed to get about as hard as it was likely to—and Rick reached down, hooking his lube-slick thumbs in the waistband of his briefs. 

Daryl tried to stop squeezing the bottle of lube so hard. 

It was a mostly-failed effort. 

“God, Daryl,” Rick murmured, pulling the briefs down so achingly slowly that every _millimeter_ of skin and pubic hair had Daryl creeping closer and closer to the edge. “You’re gonna feel good in me, aren’t you?” 

Daryl was pretty sure that he nodded. 

The very root of Rick’s penis, the very base, slowly shifted into view, and Daryl choked on thin air, suddenly desperate to sink down onto Rick’s cock himself. But— But—no. No, Rick wanted to bottom, and Daryl— Just because he wanted it didn’t mean he could actually do it. 

Just yet, anyway. 

Little by little, Rick pulled his briefs down until everything but the very tip of his cock was visible. 

“Y’know,” Rick said, conversationally—breathy, yes, but easy, like it was nothing, “the first time I figured out that I could put a finger in my asshole, I didn’t even find my prostate. I think it was… the fifth or sixth time, actually. But the first time, I just stuck my finger up inside myself and jacked off. Didn’t even fuck myself with—” 

A whine escaped Daryl before he managed to squelch it down, clearing his throat. “Sorry,” he rasped. 

Rick shook his head. “What was it that got you?” 

Daryl hesitated. “The— The idea of you. Um. Fucking… fucking yourself.” 

Rick grinned, and the briefs slipped down past his cockhead and his cock _slapped_ against his belly, and Daryl went limp and loose and easy. 

Oh, god. 

“Yeah?” Rick asked. “You like that?” 

Unthinking, Daryl nodded, desperate to have that inside him or— 

Rick was studying him like Daryl was the answer sheet to a final exam. 

“What?” Daryl tried. 

“You… Daryl, have you ever been rimmed?” 

His heart thudded to a halt in his ribs and then it kicked up into high gear, like a rabbit’s heart. 

Daryl pressed his thumb to his mouth, tearing at the nail as he shook his head slowly, barely. 

Rick tilted his head to the side as he slipped off his briefs the rest of the way and dropped them off the side of the bed. “Can I? Rim you?”

He wanted— God, he wanted, but that— 

“That— Are you sure, Rick?” 

Rick grinned, nodding. “I’ll grab a washcloth, all right? Make sure you’re clean.” 

Daryl flushed, gnawing his nail harder as Rick climbed off the bed, cock swinging wildly as he walked into the bathroom. 

This was crazy. This was fucking crazy. 

This couldn’t be actually _happening_. 

Right? A zombie apocalypse had to be more likely than this. 

But Rick came out of the bathroom a moment later with a wet washcloth and a bright grin. “Get your pants down,” he said, and Daryl took it like it was a command—which, well, it probably was, but still. 

_Christ_. 

He pulled them down to mid-thigh and hesitated, curling over his penis a little. “I— Rick, I’m—”

The washcloth landed on the bed next to him and Rick’s face filled his vision. “We can stop. We can stop, or we can stop _this_ in particular, or whatever else you want to do. You’re calling the shots, Daryl. Not me.” 

There was no doubt in Daryl’s mind that Rick meant it, but— 

“I want you,” Daryl whispered. 

“If you aren’t ready,” Rick began, but Daryl shook his head. 

“I’m— I want this. It’s—” He gritted his teeth, looking down—and then to the side, because looking at his hard cock wasn’t especially calming. “If you….” 

“Daryl.” Rick pressed a hand to his shoulder. “What can I do to make it easier?” 

“Can we turn off the lights?” Daryl whispered and waited for Rick to tell him no, that that was—

“‘Course. Is it okay if I use my phone for a light to get back over here?”

Daryl blinked, nodding slowly. “Yeah.” 

Rick grinned at him and pressed a quick, hasty kiss to his cheek. “One second.” 

His ass bounced improbably as he walked over to grab his phone and then to the light switch, which he turned off. Rick’s legs were very dimly lit—as was the floor—from his phone light as he walked back over, and then, the moment that the light touched on Daryl, Rick shut it off. 

“Good?” he asked. 

Daryl nodded before remembering. “Yeah. Yeah, it’s good.” 

“Good,” Rick said, and was quiet for a moment—still. “Can I still rim you?” 

Daryl laughed despite himself—maybe because it was dark. He fumbled for the washcloth and reached out to hand it to Rick. “Yeah.” 

“Pants off, ass up,” Rick said, the washcloth quietly rasping over his skin. 

And Daryl obeyed, pushing his jeans all the way off, and then his boxers—which was too damn nerve-wracking with the lights on, but wasn’t half as scary with the lights off—and then he crawled up the bed, spreading his knees wide on the bed. 

“You good?” Rick asked. 

“I’m— Yeah.” 

“I’m going to touch you, all right? Stop me if you need to.” 

“Okay.” It came out a whisper, but as soon as the word was out of his mouth, Rick’s fingers, cool and vaguely damp, pressed onto the back of his thigh. And that—that was more intense. Infinitely. 

That was probably why people used blindfolds. 

Rick’s fingers stayed feather-light as he ran them up Daryl’s leg, up to the crease of his ass, where ass met thigh, and the bed shifted as Rick climbed up onto it. 

Daryl took a deep breath that he didn’t really need in order to relax as Rick’s fingers pressed into the crack of his ass, pulling his cheeks to either side. 

Daryl reached back and took over, spreading himself wide open in a way he was sure he could’ve never done in the light, as Rick rubbed the washcloth over his asshole, occasionally folding it and rubbing anew with a cold, fresh spot. 

“You ready?” Rick asked, and Daryl heard the washcloth land, wet, on the carpet. 

“Yeah. Yeah, ‘m ready, Rick.” 

“Good boy,” Rick said softly. “Hold yourself open for me.” 

Daryl didn’t plan to let go, but with the first touch of Rick’s lips—not even his tongue—to his asshole, he gasped, losing his grip for a moment before he managed to hold on again, much tighter the second time around. 

“There,” Rick murmured, and licked a long, hot stripe up Daryl’s ass, only a few moments, but already too electric, too intense. Too perfect. 

Daryl’s hips bucked up involuntarily and he tried to push them back into the mattress. 

“You wanna come?” Rick asked, voice husky in a way Daryl had never heard before. “Already that close?” 

Daryl whimpered, biting his lip as he dug his fingers harder into the meat of his ass. 

“Good boy,” Rick murmured, soft and sweet, and then he latched his mouth onto Daryl’s asshole, sucking and licking and swirling and circling his tongue on Daryl’s hole. 

Daryl groaned, trying to hold still so that Rick wouldn’t stop, but— _god_ , he couldn’t take much of this. It was too intense. Too good. 

And then Rick’s tongue pressed harder onto Daryl’s hole, and Daryl couldn’t even moan—his heart was pressing too hard on his throat, and he was—he was too close already. 

His tongue slipped inside, just barely, and Daryl went limp—the only thing he could think was to keep himself open, but then Rick’s hands pressed onto his asscheeks, spreading him, and Daryl let go, gasping as his body went slack. 

Rick pulled his tongue out—just the very, very tip of it inside—and Daryl gasped out, but then Rick _shoved_ his tongue in, _deep_ , and all the air left Daryl’s body like Rick’s tongue had physically pushed it all out. 

Daryl didn’t even mind, even a little. 

Rick licked deeper and deeper into him, his fingers digging into Daryl’s ass as he flicked his tongue inside of Daryl’s body and latched his lips around Daryl’s rim, stretched around Rick’s tongue, sucking in random pulses—hard, then light; long, then short. 

“Rick,” Daryl groaned, and Rick pulled out and back. 

“I want you to ride my fingers,” Rick said, his voice raspy and fucked-out in a way that Daryl had never had the pleasure of hearing before but now prayed he’d get to hear it again and again and _again_. 

“ _Please_.” 

One of Rick’s hands left his ass for a moment and Daryl listened as Rick opened the bottle of lube and somehow squeezed some out one-handed. 

His hand returned a moment later, fingers slick and wet, and probed at Daryl’s entrance, loose and careful. 

“God, _Rick_ —” Daryl choked off into a moan as Rick’s finger pressed into him, deeper than his tongue, harder. Less forgiving. 

No less perfect. 

Rick didn’t even _move_ , though, and Daryl tried not to cry out in sheer frustration. 

“Rick,” he finally managed. 

“I told you I wanted you to ride my fingers.” 

Had the lights been on, Daryl would’ve called the whole thing off at that. It would’ve been too obvious that Daryl liked it—liked the way that his face burned hot, the way that he wanted to protest and wanted to beg to be allowed to do it forever all at once. 

As it was, Daryl slowly shifted his hips forward and then back. Rick groaned like he’d been gutted and Daryl clamped tighter around his finger.

He kept going, though, working himself on Rick’s single fucking finger, and, within a dozen thrusts, Rick started to move, too, meeting his thrusts halfway. Daryl grunted on every one, muscles shaking from how tense and tight he was. 

“Gotta open up and let me in,” Rick murmured, so soft that Daryl almost missed it for what it was—offering to add another finger. 

Daryl took a slow, deep breath, trying with all his might to relax his muscles as he slowed his thrusts, too. He kept tightening every time Rick brushed close to—to something. Probably his prostate. 

Oh, god. 

Rick’s finger pulled out all the way and he stilled Daryl’s hips with one light hand, shushing him. “I’ll give you more, Daryl. Just a moment.” 

Daryl waited, as patiently as he could, but he couldn’t hold out nearly as long as he wanted to, and he reached down to grab at his cock, slowly jacking himself. 

Rick pressed two fingers into his ass, the second one deep enough that it brushed against his prostate _hard_ , and Daryl shouted, coming hard onto the sheets as he fisted himself harder and harder, trying in vain to prolong his orgasm. 

“Did— Daryl, did you—”

Daryl felt a wash of shame rush over him. 

“God, you _came_?” 

Rick didn’t— He didn’t sound that upset. 

“That’s so fucking hot,” Rick muttered, and started fucking his fingers into Daryl’s ass harder still. 

Daryl canted his hips back, desperate even after his orgasm, still seeking more and more pleasure at Rick’s hands, at his fingers. 

“God— God, Daryl, can I fuck you? Are you open enough?” 

Rick sounded just about as desperate as Daryl felt, and while Daryl doubted he was open enough, it suddenly didn’t matter if it hurt a little. 

“‘M good,” Daryl said, nodding into the sheets. “Fuck me, Rick.” 

Rick pressed a third finger into Daryl and he gasped, sucking in a breath at how good it felt, how _full_ he was. 

“Fuck me,” Daryl grunted. 

He heard the lube bottle opening again and slick noises that he _prayed_ was Rick’s hand on his cock, because Daryl was already starting to get hard again, and he hadn’t had this short of a refractory since he first figured out that orgasms were, in fact, absolutely fantastic. 

Rick pushed his pinky into Daryl and Daryl muffled a loud sound that he couldn’t even describe—guttural as a shout, raw as a scream, not as scared, not as—

“Oh—” Daryl groaned as Rick pulled his fingers out and replaced them with his cock, covered in a condom that Daryl half-wished he wasn’t wearing and half-grateful for. 

“You’re g’nna come on me, Rick,” Daryl slurred, body jolting as Rick pounded into him, his hips pushing Daryl slowly across the bed. Daryl would’ve tried to fuck himself back onto Rick but he was just exhausted. 

His cock wasn’t. His cock was _wide fucking awake_ and then some. 

“Yeah?” Rick said. “You want me to come on you? Your face? Maybe rub it in, mark you up. Claim you as mine.” Rick’s hips snapped harder at that and Daryl moaned, nodding. 

“ _Yes_ ,” he hissed. “Rick….”

Rick pounded into him harder and harder and then suddenly pulled out, and Daryl rolled onto his back, sliding down and resting his hands on Rick’s hips, closing his eyes and letting Rick take one of his hands to aim Rick’s now-bare cock at his face. 

“Come on me, Rick,” Daryl whispered. 

Rick groaned and Daryl shivered as Rick’s come hit his face, splattering a little, mostly just warm and musky. He bit back a smile—this was already risky enough, letting Rick come on his skin. Better for them not to ingest each other’s come until—

“Daryl,” Rick groaned, his hips hitching and one last rope of come landing across Daryl’s face. 

Daryl let go of Rick’s cock and reached down to his own, only for Rick to tug Daryl up by his armpits and knock his hand away, replacing it with his own. 

“I want you to come for me, Daryl,” Rick said, jacking him harder, faster, than Daryl had dared to do to himself so soon after coming. 

“Rick,” Daryl choked out, his cock jerking. “Rick, I—” 

He came, his body jerking and arching as he gasped for air, trying to hold back his moans. 

Rick’s pace slowed as soon as the last bit of come left his cock. “Perfect,” Rick murmured, soft and gentle. “Thank you, Daryl.” He let go of Daryl’s cock—which was, admittedly, starting to get a little oversensitive—and leaned down to kiss him despite the come all over Daryl’s face. 

Daryl smiled into the kiss, lighter than he’d been since he woke up and found a sucked-clean Ring Pop on his ring finger and a matching one on Rick’s. 

Maybe things would be okay after all. 

“Shit,” Rick said, pulling back. 

“What?” 

“I don’t know where my phone is.” 

Derek pulled Rick back down and kissed him again. “Later,” he said between kisses.

“Later,” Rick agreed. 

For now, Daryl was going to enjoy this. 

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed, kudos and comments are always appreciated.
> 
> If you want to see more of my fanworks, subscribe to my AO3 profile or follow me on tumblr at waitingforjudas.tumblr.com.
> 
> You may also like my work [We're Never Worth Our Fears](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21086597) or [Baby, I'm Howlin' for You](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20852003).
> 
> Thank you for reading!


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